For the 4th "homework assignment", I had the group each write an answer to the question in their character's voice what they would want to do with their share of the treasure found and the reward money for returning the Prism Crown. Had to name a personal item, a real pie in the sky sort of item, and 2 other miscellaneous items they might want to spend their money on. Also, they had to pick one item that another party member should get. After receiving it, I wove it into a story format and we presented it to the group every couple of days or so. This is the fifth one, Kovid Manslayer XIX, the Dwarf! Each interlude takes place right after the last one - so if you want to read for continuity, check out the previous 4: Lyra, Brendon, Wyn, or Lannis.
Follows:
Kovid and Reward Money
“All ziss talk ‘boot grapes and wotnot ‘as me feelin’ a bit peckish,” Wyn said, putting his bow down. He drew his pack closer and fished out some tired looking dried meats and vegetables. “Sacre blu, I ‘ope we kin find sumthin’ a’betterer ta eat t’morrow.”
“That barely steamed muskrat was certainly an experience,” Lannis supplied, digging around his own pouches. He pulled out a bit of hard cheese and flaked the dried and discolored edges off. “One that I am not willing to repeat.”
“Bah, I’ve eaten worse off the dock vendors when it was still a day before payday,” Abraxas offered. “Salted and Pickled Fishheads at Dos por a copper will keep you alive, but not happy.”
“It’s not the food that gets to me on this trip,” Lyra said, folding a dried piece of some meat around a slice of a hard waxy cheese and nibbling on it, “it’s the drink…or lack thereof.”
“Preach it, Sister,” Kovid sighed. “If I’d have thought of it, I’d have brought a small cask of Dwarven Red or at least some Two Boar Ale on this adventure.”
The Magic User frowned, “It’s fine to have a drink now and again, but don’t you think it clouds your thoughts and makes you unreasonably angry enough to throw alchemy gear at other people for simple mistakes or literally any reason whatsoever?”
“You’ve had a rough time of it, haven’t you?” Brendon asked.
“No! My life has been great and I am highly respected by all my peers,” Lannis asserted, back straight, finger pointing. “And anything you heard to the contrary is not only a lie, but a malicious rumor designed specifically to make whatever enemies I have feel adequate about themselves.”
“Sure, Big Brain,” the dwarf chuckled, taking a bite of his own hardtack, bits of crumbs getting lost in his beard. “Whatever you say.”
“Ugh, wipe your face,” Lannis scowled. “Get some of the food in your mouth, please. It’s like watching a garbage can spilling across a carpet.”
Lyra curled her finger under her thumb and leaned over, flicking Lannis in the ear. “Knock it the hell off.”
“Hey! You could have killed me with that talon of yours!”
“Eef t’at was gonna ‘appen, I’m sure one o’ us might…maybe…possibly would ‘ave stopped it, Monsieur,” Wyn deadpanned.
“Si,” Abraxas agreed, head bobbing. “I’d even make sure to clean up tu sangre.”
“Thanks, Abraxas. Glad you have my back.”
“De nada.”
Wyn took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I would be very ‘appy wit’ a fine Elven wine ta drink, meself.”
The dwarf shook his head. “No. Ale, beer, or spirits. Wine is for wetting your lips when they’re chapped, or watering the herb garden to attract bees. No one actually drinks it.”
“I disagree wit’ ya, Dwarffriend. Wine is an exactin’ drink for a refined palette.”
Kovid raised a single eyebrow, “Um, nothing exact about unfinished vinegar or weak paint stripper, Elffriend.”
“As ‘pposed ta drinkin’ a tankard o’ foam and armpit tastin’ pisswater?”
“DWARVEN Ale is a medley of folded ingredients and pure rainwater aged and sealed for months in oaken casks tended to weekly by skilled artisans,” Kovid replied, pointing the business end of a dried bit of sausage at the elf, “Pisswater is what you get at a human run establishment when you need to wash the taste of the fruitcocktail you just drank from the elven wine merchant out of your mouth.” He frowned. “And what in Thor’s Name is a palette?”
“It’s the thing that the goods go on when loading and unloading un barco, Senor,” the Fighter said.
“Have to lash them down in the hold or they tend to slip when seas are rough,” Brendon added.
“Comme parler aux enfants,” Wyn gritted his teeth. “Non, non, non. It’s the part in your mouth over your tongue.”
“And you think, that a ‘refined’ one,” Kovid asked slowly, “means you like wine?”
“Oui.”
“And if don’t like fruit juice…oh, I mean, wine, can I buy one? A palette?”
“Non, non. You cannot buy one.” The elf shook his head, face serious a moment before his lips curled up. “’Owever, if’n you wanted ta spend some o’ your reward money on good wine. Tha’ would be tres possible!”
“Nah,” Kovid chuckled. “I have my own plans for my reward should we get it.”
“Oh?” Wyn leaned back, placing one hand behind his head to get more comfortable. “So tell us then, what will you plan to do wit’ your share o’ the treasure we've found as well as th’ reward the Academy iz payin’ us for the return of ze Prism Crown?”
“Ha!” the dwarf laughed, loud and sharp. “That part is easy, Elfling.”
“I assume you aren’t going to buy a bottle of elven wine?” Lannis asked drolly.
“Two answers to that, Big Brain. Fat and Chance.” He wiped his beard clean and smiled. “No, in a way, Manling, you had the right of it. I want a new home, away from the mines. Away from the name “Manslayer”.”
“But Senor, that is your name.”
“Mayhap, but a dwarf is allowed to make a change twice in his life and it’s time I distance myself from that. No, I’d look for a new place, up on a mountain pass somewhere, carved into a small cave, maybe build a house with a log cabin facade.”
“Sounds rustic,” Lyra smiled. “I like it.”
“Thanks,” Kovid nodded. “Brew my own ale and sell it. Find a woman. Start my own clan. The Kovid Aledrinkers, hahaha!” He laughed, beard shaking. “I’ve got a great name picked out for the Ale as well… Korona Dwarven Ale!"
“Why not call it Kovid Dwarven Ale?” Lannis asked.
“I dunno. I wanted something that sounds like me, but just runs off the tongue.”
The elf shrugged, “Ale ‘as got an earthy taste to it, Monsieur. You aren’t gonna ‘ttract anyone but dwarves ta drink it.”
“Maybe. I guess I can always cut a piece of fruit and toss it in the mug when elves or halflings come to my Alehouse.”
“Eh, sounds weak,” Lannis offered. “Besides your obviously very original idea of a dwarf making his own alcoholic beverage to sell that tastes like all other dwarven alcoholic beverages with the exception of the orange slice you’re going to toss in…”
“Could be lemon,” Kovid interrupted, “you don’t know. Whatever’s in season.”
“Go crazy,” Lannis suggested, waving his hands in the air, “why don’t you and pop a lime in there.”
“Ugh!” Wyn shuddered, “Sounds dreadful.”
“See!” The Magic User pointed, “And he has a refined skid.”
“Pallet,” Brendon corrected.
“Pallette!” Wyn corrected again, with emphasis.
“Anyway,” Lannis tried to continue, gathering the threads of the conversation, “what else would you like with your coin? Beard combs? Severed goblin head mounted on a plaque? A dozen step stools?"
“Hmmph,” he drew his Theystran War Hammer and spun it on its handle, its silver head reflecting the lantern light. “I’d commission a dwarven-made silver hammer; twin sister to Theystra’s. Two is better than one.”
“The ‘riginal ‘ammer is elven. Why not ‘ave an elven smith make one?”
“It’s nice, don’t get me wrong, real nice. But it’s my money and I know a few weaponsmiths that would really like the work. The hammers though, I’d keep and display them both. They’ll not only be the symbol of Korona Dwarven Ale, they’ll defend the Alehouse from any raiders.”
“You expect many banditos to raid you, Senor Kovale?” Abraxas asked.
“You never know! Haha! My customers may be thirsty for ale, but my hammers are thirsty for blood.” He held the hammer high, brandishing it to the ceiling. “That can be our catchphrase: ‘You’ll be safe at Korona’s! Unless you’re a goblin’.”
“Catchy,” Lyra smirked.
“Yep: safety, alcohol, racism, and implied murder all in that catchphrase. Can’t wait to visit your drinking den.” Lannis took a swig from his waterskin and wiped his lips.
“Safety is no joke,” Brendon said.
“But seeing people fall and get hurt is always funny,” Lannis giggled.
“Ignore ‘im,” Wyn began.
“Always try,” Kovid interrupted.
Lannis barked, “Hey!”
“Anywho,” Wyn continued. “Zat sounds all sort of part o’ the same theme, Dwarffriend.”
“It is and it does,” Kovid agreed. “I’ve learned a lot on this adventure so far. Things are a lot more interconnected than I originally expected them to be.”
“What else?” Brendon prompted after a few seconds of silence.
“What else?” Kovid thought. He pulled the edge of his armor down and frowned. “I’ll say this, I’d also have a new set of plate mail made to replace the one devoured by slime as well as this secondhand one I’m wearing now.”
“Oui. It’s doing a pinch for you now, but eet is still a goblin made an’ fitted piece of armor.”
“You got that. I have to wear it, so I can still occasionally scent Travis’ stink at odd moments. No, a new set for me. And in keeping with the connecting theme, I’d like it to have silvered filigrees and details matching the twin war hammers.”
“Always thought dwarves were all about that gold,” Lannis mused.
“Nah,” Kovid shook his head. “I have a cousin who likes iron alloys. Breastplate he wears has a nickel back.”
“Bet he thinks he looks like ze rockstar,” Wyn suggested.
“Nickel back? Sounds like a schmuck,” the Magic User suggested.
“Him?” Kovid chuckled, “Could be. How you remind me.”
“Well Senor,” Abraxas offered, taking a huge bite of his own rations, “I would come an’ drink your cervezas wit’ lime and put my feet up on your stools and relax at your Alehouse if I am invited, por favor.”
“You are welcome, my friend.” He smiled. “Hell, you’re all welcome.” He took out his maps and laid them flat. “And that reminds me, the last thing I’d want."
“What?” Wyn asked.
“I’d like to purchase a cartographer’s set as well.”
“Eh,” Lannis sniffed. “You have some skill, I’d guess.”
“Are you kidding,” Brendon asked. “They’re really good.”
The Magic User gave Brendon a side eye, “I don’t know. I wouldn’t copy them.”
Kovid continued, “Mapping the Ispan’s Castle has been valuable and I seem to have the knack for it, even if it ends up as just a hobby.”
“A poorly executed hobby, can’t make a living drawing things. That’s not a real job,” Lannis muttered.
Kovid continued, not hearing the wizard’s murmurings, “A drawn plan could be useful in the design of the Alehouse as well.”
Wyn was nodding his head. “Monsieur Dwarf, getting back to your armor…”
“Yeah?”
“Iffin you be continuin' ta explore de places where kobs en gobs live, you may wanna consider buyin' some items dat resist dat limon vert, er, um, de green slime.”
“Yeah, that would suck if I had the Korona Ale platemail made and it got burned up three rooms in the next dungeon I go exploring.”
“Exactement! Potions ov de Ifrit may be de easiest solution since you liked bein’ on fire a’fore. De slime burns away, en Ifrit essence makes de drinker fireproof... you drink de potion, en keep yerself on fire when fightin' de slime hurlers. Reduces yer slime worries, oui?”
“You can save money on potions if I’m with you,” Lyra offered. “I’d Fire Resist you and you can set yourself ablaze from dawn to dusk.”
“Haaha! That WAS fun.”
“Fucking dwarves,” Lannis muttered again.
Wyn continued, “If’n you wanna more "pie een de sky" or "out ov de crate" idea? Mayhaps it be possible to spread de sheets of dat mineral... what be its name... mica? Oui dats it. Create plate mail or shield make ov de mica sheets... de slime no eat de stone... so den you be more able to deflect or defend against de slime.”
“Stone armor? Really Wyn?” Lannis scoffed. “Can you come up with a more dwarven sounding line of bull?”
“As ‘pposed to turnin’ a dead prostitute into a stitched t’gether magical sex slave?” the elf retorted, brow raised. Before Lannis could continue, the elf plowed along, “Kovid, eet might take a rather skilled armorsmidd to create sometin like dat, en mayhaps dat smidd cen 'elp you ta tink ov de best solution.”
The dwarf chuckled. “Why not. I know a really good guy that does great work.”
“Oh! No,” Wyn replied, head shaking, “Don't go for de "best" armorsmidd in a town ; go for de second best.”
"Why?"
The elf scowled, looking past the dwarf, eyes deep in thought. “Dat guy will try 'arder en you don't be windin' up wit a backpack radder den a suit ov armor.”
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